La vie est un long fleuve tranquille. Ends are beginnings and vice versa.
Underlying is a sense of awe, audacity and a seemingly magical energy.
Stories I tell about Tucker have a circuitous route. I didn’t know that a business was in the making when I started. The beautiful Tucker blouses caught the attention of passersby. Friends and strangers alike were captivated. An appointment with the buyer at Barneys NY was arranged and the little collection of blouses needed a name.
Doodles on papers, and different names rolled off the tongue and I even pretended to answer the phone at headquarters. Let the trumpet usher in the arrival of Archangel Gabriel. I woke up from a dream with the name in my thoughts. Tucker. A visit to the unconscious mind. I looked up Tucker in my big red dictionary. The sound of a word is important. The nuance of a word, fascinating. Who else loves reading the dictionary?
tuck·er noun historical: a piece of lace or linen worn in or around the top of a bodice or as an insert at the front of a low-cut dress.
Pour on a liberal application of voluminous sleeves and generous draping over the bosom to the definition.
Tucker got its name and I got my calling. The beginning of a beautiful business was in the making. Since the making has begun, a lot of seemingly magical things have happened and continue to happen.
I found the untitled “assorted roller-skating girl,” soul-enlarging picture while Google searching. I was wanting to design body suits for Tucker and doing research for inspiration. I dragged it to my desktop.
I went back to look at it, and found it months later. I recognized Central Park. My children’s father skated in Central Park in the Seventies. I sent him the picture feeling suddenly that # 32 could be him. And it is.
A sweet example of the seemingly magical things that happen at Tucker.
Quoting Paul Klee ... "A line is a dot that went for a walk."